Author's Note: Thanks to Guardian Angel
for the continued hand-holding, early morning and late at night and
as the two fade together. Thanks to everyone who stuck around to see
this baby come to term (so to speak). Your kind words and open eyes
have been a balm to my poor insecure soul.

Also, apologies to Elizabeth Stone,
from whom I stole unabashedly :)

Part Ten

"So, should we call you Grandpa
Josef?" Beth's voice was barely audible to the vampires over the
smack of the blades. Mick almost choked on Josef's emergency bag of
blood, licking the spill from his chin as he tried not to waste a
single drop.

The noise of the helicopter quashed any
reply, so Josef rolled his eyes instead.

With enough blood to dull the ache in
his gums, if just barely, Mick wrapped himself around and under Beth
in a cushion of flesh, kneading circles against her aching back and
listening for trouble.

"Mick," Beth tilted her face up to
him and he bent to meet her, to hold her to him. Mouth and nose
nestled in the curve of his neck, he counted her breaths. Solid and
steady. Her whispers rushed over his skin.

"Send someone for Andi. They have her
family. Or had her family."

Mick nodded. The pierce of the sun shut
his eyes. He had to trust the sounds of her heart, of their son's,
the feel of her warm skin against him. He tried to ignore the sigh of
blood beneath her skin, the tempting flow just inches from his hungry
teeth.

They hit the roof and Beth was out of
his arms, her hand still reaching for him, but body being probed by
others. He heard Josef making sharp announcements about a car
accident, numbers shouted over the engine noise and the squeak of a
gurney being wheeled over the tarmac.

But above the din, he heard it. Blood.
The pretty nurse and her throbbing veins, the well-muscled doctor
with his blue, blue wrists.

Then Beth's groans slapped him. Mick's
eyes snapped to her.

"Mick?" He pushed through and stood
at her shoulder. "I want to push. Can I push?"

"She's fully dilated," the doctor
announced from between her legs as they paused for the elevator. A
nurse was changing Beth into scrubs, the bloody dress and underwear
in a plastic bag, and Mick's hands twitched. He could squeeze the
liquid out, into his mouth, blood and cotton on his tongue.

"We need a room, fast. Next
contraction, ma'am --"

"Beth, Beth St. John." Mick wiggled
into his own protective clothing, concentrating on each step.

They should have been home, Beth waking
him with the news. Mick frantically grabbing the suitcase, the wife.
A debate over the Benz or the Prius, a call to Josef, Beth breaking
his hand over and over while hurling invectives as they waited for
their son.

Mick grabbed Beth's hand and held tight
to what mattered.

The elevator doors split and the
entourage spilled out. So much blood, inside and out. Mick felt a
hand on him.

"You'll never make it like this,"
Josef held him back and as the busy hallway winked out of view.

"I have to," Mick crashed against
him to open the doors.

"You will. But not like this,"
Josef pricked open a vein. "Don't argue. Drink."

A moment of hesitation and then the
smooth of Josef's skin was between Mick's lips, the kaleidoscope
taste of secondhand women in the cool copper tang.

"Are you okay?" Mick wiped his
mouth, better already. He jabbed the button to open the doors.

"I think I need a nurse," Josef
grinned. "And you need to hurry."

Mick sped through the hall, faster than
a human would have, Beth's scent pulling him. And there she was.

A thatch of black bulged from Beth in
the most surreal moment, the baby inside Beth about to be out. Mick's
breath caught. Their son. There.

He was at Beth's side, eyes on the
strange image in the mirror facing the bed.

"Almost there," he put a cool hand
on her head. "Almost, Beth."

Mick took her hand, pulled it down and
brushed the tips against the shock of hair. Her eyes widened against
the new pressure.

"That's him," Mick watched her face
flit from wonder to joy until it screwed tight again and her hand
slipped to grip the edge of the bed. Every muscle busy.

A face.

A shoulder. Arms. Legs. Feet.

"Congratulations, it's a boy!"

The room blurred. He smelled Beth's
tears with his own.

Then he was in her arms, their son.
Hiccuping sobs from Beth as her hands ran over him, nurses wiping,
squeezing, cleaning.

The first whoosh of air into tiny lungs
and the heartbeat picked up. Mick held his breath, afraid as blue
skin became pink.

His clear cat-cry rang out, the most
beautiful sound since his name on Beth's lips.

He placed fingertips against his son's
skin. Eyes of the pale blue peeked at him as Beth shifted his tiny
body to lay against her warmth. Mick's arms itched for him but he
stepped away.

"I'll tell Josef," Mick headed for
the door where he could breathe again without chancing the smell of
his son. "I'll see you in the room."

An hour later, clothes changed, calls
made and veins full, Mick paced outside Beth's room. He heard the
sigh of her sleeping and the echoing beat of a heart next to hers. He
could read the little card, scrawled in a careful lettering, "Matthew
Turner St. John, 6 lbs, 10 ozs., 19.5 inches. Michael and Elizabeth
St. John." And beneath it slept his son.

When the third nurse asked if she could
help him, he finally pushed himself through the doorway, leaving it
open a crack.

The terror, absolute terror, bit him.
Worse than her eyes on his bloody mouth, worse than the seize of her
breath and tremble of her arm against him in the desert. But not even
his own fear could keep him from this child. He wanted to see this
little person he and Beth had made, the part of him outside of him.
He wanted his miracle.

He laid trembling hands over Matthew,
slipping his pinkie into the tiny grip. Mick smoothed the dark hair,
so small head in his palm.

He took a breath, ready for thirst and
crushing despair, for the world to fall, for the vampire to scream
out for blood and make Mick a monster in his son's eyes.

Nothing. He smelled fresh, familiar and
faintly of Beth. Another breath – antibiotics, cotton, a sweet
unknown. There was blood, he could hear it pumping, but nothing Mick
was hungry for. Nothing.

He eased him into his arms, wishing he
could pull this moment inside himself, cocoon them against the world.

"Matthew. My Matty," Mick tried as
the eyes opened to him, tracked his face, his smile. His arms were
made for this moment. He leaned down and settled lips against so soft
skin. "Hey, buddy, I'm your daddy."

Beth's heartbeat ticked up. Mick caught
her sleepy eyes on them and shifted to face her.

"Hi, daddy," she smiled.

"Look, Mommy's up. You tired her
out," Mick curled him closer. "Of course, you had some help. But
Uncle Josef and I took care of that."

"Where is he?"

"Probably getting the marching band
ready. Or buying out every florist in L.A. Having the girls break
open those diaper cakes. He'll be here soon."

Mick couldn't stop touching his son, a
reassurance he was really there.